It Is What It Is
by Freedom909
Summary: "I can take the hurt away," he murmurs to her, "but only if you want me to." Both Éponine and Enjolras can't stand the hurt from their own lives, but one fateful day, they find themselves together and just for a moment they find solace within each other's embrace. [Modern AU OneShot]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So this is a little oneshot I needed to write. I needed to write because of the hurt. Because just like Éponine, we were best friends, then he met a girl and he married her, and I wasn't even invited to the wedding. And recently, as he has contacted me, these hurt feelings have resurfaced. So I needed to let them go. And I figured I would share my hurt with you. This fic is dedicated to the hope that I will find someone who will take the hurt away from me for good. This fic is everything I feel and everything I need. **

**Thank you for taking the time to read it, I hope you understand. **

**Warnings: There is smut, but nothing graphic, no detail, it's just there.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

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It Is What It Is

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I couldn't sleep last night because I know that it's over between us now for good. I'm not bitter anymore, because I know what we had was real. And if in some distant place in the future we see each other in our new lives, I'll smile at you with joy and remember how we spent summer beneath the trees, how we walked for miles endlessly talking of nothing, how we called each other when things got bad, how we learned from each other and grew more in love. Well, I did at least. But it doesn't matter anymore. The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. And I will always remember how you have given that to me.

...

She walks longingly down the sidewalk, lost once again in her thoughts. Her heart is heavy, feeling like a weight dragging her down to the depths of the earth. Somehow her feet dragged her all the way to the Cafe Musain.

As she enters the building with her hazed and tired eyes, she sees Enjolras sitting in the far off corner. His head is bent over and he is staring straight into his paper cup of coffee. His eyes hold the same tired gaze and Éponine doesn't need to ask, she knows what he's brooding about.

It has been four weeks since his failed revolt. Him and his friends attempted to stage a protest in City Hall. Things got out of hand quickly as the police were called and started using force. Some people tried to help out the students, but for some reason, Enjolras wouldn't give up. The police presence only egged him on as he stood shouting his speeches to everyone who would listen. His eyes ablaze with passion, while the crowds fought and the police tried to apprehend any individual they could. His best friend Combeferre was killed that day - bludgeoned to death by a police baton. Éponine was there to see it, but ducked out before she could get snagged by the police as well. She heard Enjolras was arrested with the rest of Les Amis. They were all brought into custody and then Enjolras' wealthy parents bailed him out. About half of Les Amis made bail courtesy of their parents, but the rest - Grantaire, Feuilly, and Courfeyrac - were still in jail to serve their sentence.

After all of this had taken place, Les Amis had disbanded. Enjolras didn't have a passion anymore. His mind is constantly consumed with his failure - the lives he has permanently ruined thanks to his attempt at change.

He does nothing with his life now. Books are his only friends but really, he barely has the heart to read anymore either. Most of the time, he sits in the Cafe - where it all began - and sulks silently into his coffee, regretting life, and wishing he was the one who died rather than his friend.

The similarly sullen girl is about to get her coffee, but she has lost her appetite when a thought of _him_ enters her mind. This was where she used to meet him, she'd wait for him after every meeting, sometimes he would even introduce her to his friends. It's funny, she was actually beginning to like some of them until Enjolras had to go and screw it all up. She never paid the leader mind before, her mind was always endowed with Marius.

She could feel herself cringe. Even after all this time, his name still stung like a bullet.

But her eyes gaze over to the handsome revolutionary, observing his weary eyes and sagging shoulders. And suddenly, a part of her heart felt for him. She bet the hurt in his heart was similar to the one she was feeling right now. For a brief moment, she didn't loathe him anymore. In fact, it was sad, how he risked everything on this hope that the government would actually listen to him, would actually notice him. And for the first time, she realized he wasn't that different her.

She had put her hope into a boy who never noticed her either. And the second a beautiful blonde crossed his vision, he was permanently gone. And if he could've, she didn't doubt, that he would've called the police to get her away from him.

So, here were their lives. Both dismal and dark now that their passion had been extinguished. And where did that leave them? Alone.

Her feet guide her to his table. With no words, she pulls out the chair across from him and sits down. She doesn't look at him but she stares at her hands in her lap.

His head slowly lifts up to see her. She can feel his stare on her. Yet she doesn't say anything. She just breathes.

"What?" he says in a biting monotone voice. His question doesn't leave much room for exchange since he doesn't have the will to ask a full question, but his curiosity is there. He knows who she is but why did she place herself at his table. There were many other seats available. Why him?

Éponine just sighs heavily, still not bringing her eyes up to his. "Musichetta got an invitation to Marius' wedding," she murmurs quietly. The sting of his name on her lips is like acid being poured into her mouth.

His brow furrows for a moment before he realizes she can't see it. "Did you?"

"No."

Enjolras is a little taken aback by this whole conversation. Why is this girl even talking to him? Sure he had seen her around before but he doesn't even know her name. And now she sits herself in front of him. Everyone knew about her infatuation with Marius, they were best friends. Now, he is getting married to some other girl and didn't even have the decency to invite his friend to the wedding. Enjolras had nothing to do with this affair, but he couldn't help but feel some sort of emotion for this girl.

"Maybe he forgot to send it, or it's lost in the mail," he surmises trying to give her hope. He doesn't even know why he feels he should help her in saying something. Lord knows he has better things to occupy his mind with.

Her eyes flicker up to his momentarily and then drop back to the table. "The wedding is tomorrow," she says; the hurt evident in her tone. There is no masking this pain.

"Oh." That's all he can say. What else is there? His eyes look away from her face and he stares back into his coffee.

"I called him." She offers this piece of information willingly.

"And what did he say?"

"He didn't pick up." She can feel her throat constricting as the words fall out of her lips. "For three weeks. He never picked up the phone...for three weeks."

"Oh," he says again. The silence grows between them like a flower blooming in the winter - slow and painful. Their breaths are the only thing reminding them of the other's presence. "I didn't get an invitation either." He says this maybe to make her feel better or maybe to help himself. It's not like he has had the company of much human interaction either. But doesn't he have more important things to do anyway than commiserate with this girl whose name he doesn't even know?

A smile crosses her face like lightning and then is gone before it is even remembered. "Did _you_ expect to?"

"No." He clears his throat, choking on the word. "I mean, not really, no...He was - " His words die out as he thinks about his friend rotting in that prison. Images of the past flood through his mind and he can't bear to say his name. "He was my friend's friend...not mine."

"Courfeyrac's?" she asks as her eyes find his and he is staring at her with such intensity, as if she had just mentioned the devil himself.

His eyes bore into her. How did she even know? "Yes," he says begrudgingly as his gaze softens up finally. Suddenly, he really remembers her face and somewhere deep in his mind her name is buried. She was always there - at the meetings - whenever Marius was there. And even the days he wasn't, she would show up hoping he would be there, asking if anyone had seen him.

Éponine doesn't press him further. She doesn't really need to in order to see the hurt behind his eyes. He feels guilty for everything, he knows he is to blame, but he is drowning himself in the guilt.

As the silence drones on, Éponine can't bear it anymore. She hates seeing him feel sorry for himself and she hates the ache in her heart and the ache behind her eyes. She hates feeling like the world is imploding around her, like she has nothing to live for anymore. Like every shred of hope she had, has just died along with her soul.

But Éponine is dead inside. So the truth is, she hardly feels anything at all. The pain has turned to numbness. She's felt it far too long to actually feel it anymore.

And she would bet what's left of her heart, that Enjolras probably feels the same way.

"Come with me," she states abruptly and this time it's her eyes that are boring into his.

"What?" he asks, confusion laced in his tone.

She pushes her seat back. "Well, I don't have anyone sleeping with me and you don't have anywhere that you've gotta be, so...c'mon." She stands herself up, waiting for him to join.

His eyes follow hers and he is now looking up to her. What was this girl getting at? Could he really just get up and follow her? He didn't even know her name, and it was rude to ask her all of a sudden now, anyway. But what did he have to lose? He had nothing anymore. He was a meaningless life form, squandering the earth lost in his own thoughts and desolation, screwing up the lives of the ones he loves. So why not? What was one more life to screw up? Besides, it seemed he couldn't possibly make her life worse than it already was.

"Alright." And he stands, following her out of the Cafe.

She begins walking down the sidewalk once again and he still follows her. He doesn't dare ask if she wants to ride in his car. He is far too curious, wanting to know where she is leading him.

They walk in silence. It seems the silence is fitting for both of their melancholy state. It is the resonating sound of nothing that keeps them bound together. It is something they share in common and in a way, the silence is just another word for their pain.

Éponine leads Enjolras to an older building. One where the stones are falling out of their holes on the siding and the stairs have nicks in them from wear. The door creaks as she opens it, bringing both of them out of their thoughts for a moment. She continues on up flights of stairs with Enjolras following gingerly in tow.

She finally makes it to a door at the end of a long hallway. The hallway reeks of alcohol and cigarettes but Enjolras doesn't flinch at the smell. Instead, he welcomes it to his misery. Pulling out a key, she unlocks the door and leads the way into a tiny, one room apartment.

Enjolras can't say it's really tidy. Dirty dishes lay in the sink, sweaters are thrown over the couch, and he can even see the dust on the picture frames.

She kicks her ballet flats off and walks to the kitchenette, pulling two beers from the refrigerator. He decides, like her, to take his shoes off even if she never asked. Twisting off the tops with her hands, she gives one beer to him and plops herself on the couch. She doesn't say anything but waits for him to join her. Which he does.

So they sit there, sipping their beers and perhaps actually enjoying the other's company. Neither is planning for anything to happen. Enjolras doesn't question anything and she doesn't say. They both just sit there alone, lost in their own thoughts, their own world, but at least they can be alone together.

"I don't know..." she murmurs after an eternity of silence.

He waits before answering, thinking she might elaborate. "Don't know what?"

"I just..." her voice breaks off hiding a sob and he looks over at her. She's staring at her hands in her lap again. "I just don't know what I did," she whispers, "Why didn't he even call me back?" Her eyes close gently and a tear finds its way over her eyelid, sliding down her cheek.

But that's all it was, one tear. That is the only amount of pain she would release from the relentless thoughts pounding in her mind, never giving her a chance to breath. Because no matter how hard you try, there is no escape from your mind.

Suddenly, she feels the warmth of his hand under her chin; his forefinger and thumb bringing her eyes to his. "Don't," he whispers back. Her eyes open to stare into his. She can see all the hurt flashing through him at this very moment. But for some reason, he's choosing to help her.

Éponine takes a deep breath in as his thumb glides over her cheek. She lets out the breath, "It just hurts." Her voice doesn't sound like it was laced with tears, somehow she was able to hide the hurt from her voice. "As much as I try to move on...I'm just reminded of the pain. It's more a numbness now, I guess. But I'm tired of feeling this way." She takes a large breath as she can feel the familiar ache behind her eyes as they glaze over. "I don't want to hurt anymore," she says in a broken voice with a shake of her head.

His hand still stays on her cheek even as her eyes glance to the side, looking anywhere else to hide from the embarrassment of pouring her feelings to him; a man she barely knows.

"Me neither," he speaks softly, as his hand brings her head close to his.

Her eyes dart back to his, searching for any sense in any of this, but before she has time to think, his lips land on hers. Her eyes close involuntarily as she breaths him in. The taste of him against her lips is enough to silence the never-ending, haunting thoughts that corrode her mind.

His lips grow hungry for hers, moving in all directions. His beer bottle nearly falls on the table in front of him in a hast to put it down and place that hand on her waist.

As Éponine's hand reaches out for the table to place her bottle down as well, her other hand finds his face in the same manner as his. Slowly, she brings the other hand to the curve of his neck, letting her fingers tangle in his golden hair.

His hands find the end of her shirt and slowly make their ascent up the curves of her waist. He pulls her into him, causing her back to arch against his chest. Her face stays pressed against his as he pulls her on top of him, leaning them back so he is resting against the armrest of the couch. Their faces only pull apart for a brief moment as his hands bring her shirt over head and toss it over the back of the couch with the rest of her miscellaneous clothes.

Their faces collide once again as if there is a magnet pulling them together. Suddenly, her whole body starts moving. It was no longer a gentle kiss filled with hurt, but a burning desire filled with passion and anger for what could've been. She kisses him in every way his lips could go, sucking on his bottom lip while her teeth clash against his own. She just wants him. Her hips begin to rock against his and soon it is her hands that travel up his shirt, memorizing every dip and curve of his sculpted abdomen. She takes his bottom lip between her teeth, catching her breath for a second before she licks his lip, asking for him.

Immediately, she is granted permission as he pushes against her tiny form so she is the one lying on the opposite armrest, with his body on top. He slips his tongue in her mouth, tasting her and ravishing her like she had just done. His greedy hands rub all along her bare stomach and her back but they come to her breasts and stop.

Éponine's eyes open for a moment and through his eyelids she can see him contemplating his next move, wondering if he should. Her hand reaches for his and guides his over her left breast. "It's okay," she whispers so softly as her hand gently squeezes his letting him know he can do the same. And he does. His hand envelopes her breast through her bra and begins kneading it and massaging it.

His want of her is slowly manifesting itself. He can't help the building desire that's finding it's way to him. This poor creature, whose only a face without a name, is the only thing making him forget about his troubles. He craves her just as much as she is craving him.

She lets out a long moan from the pleasure slowly building up in her. In this very instant, the hurt has fallen to the back of her mind. She can't even remember _his_ name, the image if his face is beginning to fade, being replaced but the blonde and blue eyed revolutionary in front of her. It's not just a want anymore, Éponine needs this man. His is the only who can make the hurt go away, even if it is only for a moment. But that moment is all she needs; it's all she wants.

She sits up suddenly, and he can't help but feel a little confused. His eyes meet hers and both sit there panting for a moment. "Bedroom." It's the only word she utters but it holds every amount of significance. It is the one place where their worries can be taken away, where they can never harm them. It is the place where neither of them is allowed to think of anything but the other if only for a moment.

His lips find hers again, wrapping his arms around her as they stand together. In one swift movement, his large hands grab ahold of her thighs, hoisting her up, she is completely wrapped around him now. In the tiny apartment - that he's never been in before - it is easy to find her bedroom, especially with the door being left open.

Her lips attack his neck, sucking with everything she has against his skin as they walk clumsily across the apartment. In five steps, he crosses the bedroom and places her down on the unmade bed. Their skin never breaks contact with each other as he climbs on top of her.

In an instant, he gazes into her eyes while her hands work at lifting his shirt over his head. He leans back onto his shins, reaching up to help her take it off him. With his shirt discarded, he falls back on top of her, hands running all along her skin and stopping at the button on her jeans.

She thinks for a moment that he is too scared to continue any further, she thinks she will have to prompt him some more. But his lips tear away from hers and rest beside her ear. In a hazy voice, he whispers to her, "I need you...to make the hurt go away."

She doesn't really mind if he only needs her or wants her for this sole purpose because honestly, it's the same reason she needs him.

"Me too," she whimpers back to him under her own hazy and wearied eyes. And once those words have left her mouth, there is nothing stopping him anymore. He pulls her jeans inside out down her legs until they fall to the ground. Her own hands grab the button of his jeans and he helps her pull them down leaving him bare in his boxers and socks.

She flips them over with a wide grin on her face. He can't help but notice that this is the first time he's seen her smile today. It's not some distant smile thinking of a time long forgotten, but a smile for him, reveling on what is about to come, waiting for those memories to be buried beneath forever.

She simultaneously drags her hands teasingly down each leg and pulls his socks off. Her hands graze back up each leg stopping at the elastic of his boxers. Her eyes stare at the bulge in the boxers, her smile fades as her mind becomes transfixed on it, and for a split second she wonders if this is a good idea. Could this be the answer for the hurt? Would this really mean that everything would be erased? Could she really just replace one man with another? No. The hurt may not be gone forever, but for a moment, just a moment, it would feel like it was.

He watches her stare at him and he gently sits up. "Éponine?" He doesn't know what makes him remember, he was sure he didn't know her name, but for some reason the name stirs in his mind like a long lost memory.

Her eyes flicker to him when he says it and he is definite now that that is her name. His hand reaches out to her face as she looks away from him. As he cups her face, he brings his lips close to hers and kisses the corner of her mouth. Her eyes close as he pulls back staring at her. And there it is again, the single tear that slides over her eyelid and down her cheek.

He just keeps gazing at her and she can feel his stare just like she can feel the gentle brush of his hand along her jaw. Her hand finds her face and she sloppily brushes away the tear with a little sniffle. She keeps her gaze downward, staring at her thighs.

Enjolras leans closer to her, he kisses her forehead and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace. "I can take the hurt away," he murmurs to her, "but only if you want me to."

He can feel her body trembling as she wraps her arms around his torso. She holds him so tight as she buries her face in the crook of his neck and nods. His hand cups the back of her head, holding her against him, while his other hand rubs her back. They stay like this for a few moments, until her trembling dies down and she pulls back to look at him.

Her eyes are red and swollen but she nods to him, more fervently this time. He gives her a brief smile and slowly, he turns them around.

He lays her down against the bed and they delicately remove what's left of each other's clothes.

With his hands laced with hers, with their gentle movements, and with their wearied eyes and shallow breaths, they make love to each other. It's passionate, it's clumsy, it's tragic, it's peaceful, but in all...it's beautiful. Because even if it was _just for a moment_, they both could love each other like they were the only two souls left on this earth. In the heat of the moment, the only names that came to their minds were each other's, the only words spoke and the only thing that mattered were each other's names.

These two souls just needed to feel loved. They needed to know that their lives didn't mean nothing, that for just a moment they could be important to someone else. It felt as if nothing else in life mattered up until now. The love that was produced between them was enough to silence their incessant thoughts and make the other feel wanted.

When they day slowly had faded away after the hours spent together, he lays with his back against the headboard and her head resting on his chest. His arm is wrapped tenderly around her while his hand holds hers and traces small patterns on her knuckles. Her head rises and falls with each breath he takes. Both of them stay like this within the thin sheets that are draped over them, not at all felling bothered by the silence.

It seems as though the silence has turned from pain to pleasure.

They both know that eventually they will have to leave each other and return to their normal, mundane, and tragic lives where the pain is always evident in everything they do; where every small detail reminds them of the hurt.

And for a moment, Éponine realizes that she doesn't want that. She doesn't want to leave this bed and never see Enjolras again. She wants her life to be filled with the bliss he can bestow on her, he can make her forget about this hurt forever, but only if she stays with him.

Enjolras can see it to, the power Éponine possesses to keep him from the never ending hurt of his failure. While her body stays pressed against his, it's like the hurt cannot get him. And he knows he doesn't want to leave her.

"Will you come back?" she asks suddenly and takes him by surprise. Her eyes are staring wide into his, waiting for his answer. Does this mean she was thinking the same thing he was?

He debates his answer over in his head. The answer is only yes if he is sure she wants to continue this as well, but he isn't sure. So he takes a gamble. "Yes."

Éponine smiles contentedly and buries her face back into his chest. "Good," she sighs.

He waits again as his eyes wander about the room and finally land on her head once again. "So what is this?" he asks hesitantly.

Her eyes travel up to his once more and she is still smiling a tired smile. "It is what it is..." she breathes as she snuggles herself closer to him, engulfing herself in his scent. She hugs herself tighter to him and he firmly hugs her back. She lets out a long breath, "...till it ain't...anymore."

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**A/N: Thank you for reading. I would greatly appreciate it if you let me know what you were feeling.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So yeah, this was a story that was put to rest a while ago. But recently, I decided to revise it and make it better to submit for my fiction class. **

**If you all would be so kind, I would love some opinions on the writing style of it, and what you think. I'm so nervous to submit anything and I would love some feedback before I hand it in. **

**Well, I will honestly probably delete this later on, but for now, I'd love to know what you think. The original is chapter one and the revised draft is here below. It's basically the same story, but just reedited, and in my opinion - better.**

**Obviously for my class, I have the names changed, but duh, this is fanfiction so enjoy our favorite Enjonine couple.**

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It Is What It Is

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The whole world is full of little places. Little towns and little people that are nothing more than a blip-nothing important, nothing special. Nothing famous ever happens in these towns, nothing extraordinary happens to these people. They live their lives the way it is and they are who they are.

In one forsaken little blip of Laurel, Delaware, there is a little blip girl walking longingly down the sidewalk, lost once again in her thoughts. Her heart is a weight dragging her down to the depths of the earth. Hazel hair billows from the wind against her face like the never ceasing windstorm in her mind. Yet, somehow, her feet take her all the way to the town's only café.

Nestled on a little lonely corner at the end of the busy strip of town, sits the dimly lit Coffee Cup Café. It's nothing more than cheap plastic siding delicately chipping off piece by piece, a stained green awning covering the front door, and a rickety wooden sign sitting high above where there are small touched up spots of white paint over the old letters. But this café is the only place for a decent cup of coffee, the only place with neighborly people who aren't afraid to still wave at one another, and the only place that has seen the whole history of Laurel. It isn't a landmark nor anything extravagant to visit, it's simply just there, along with everyone else in this little town.

The bells chime as she pushes open the door, alerting every patron of her incoming presence. Every head looks at her in some way-with a stare or a nod-except for one. He never lifts his gaze, he doesn't even shift in his seat. As she further enters the familiar building with her dazed and tired eyes, she stares intently at Enjolras sitting in the far off corner. She knows him. Not entirely well, but she knows enough about him and that's all she needs to know. His head is bent over the table and he is staring straight into his paper cup of coffee; body rigid, muscles tensed. His eyes hold the same tired gaze and Éponine doesn't need to ask, she knows what he's brooding about.

It has been four weeks since his failed protest. Him and his stereotypical, wealthy, student friends attempted to stage a protest outside of City Hall against Mayor Armand and his new tax increase. Their little student group had planned for months, reviewing strategies and speeches all in the back booth of the Coffee Cup Café. Once the protest was in full swing, things got out of hand quickly as the police were called and started using force. Some people tried to help out the students, and for some reason, Enjolras wouldn't give up. The police presence only egged him on as he stood shouting his speeches to everyone and anyone who would listen. The neighboring town's police force came as well, trying to subdue the growing public rage. Yet, Enjolras was undaunted, his eyes were ablaze with passion, while the crowds fought and the police tried to apprehend any individual they could.

His best friend Combeferre was killed that day-bludgeoned to death by a police baton.

Éponine was there to see it, but ducked out before she could get snagged by the police. She heard Enjolras was arrested along with the rest of his student rebellion group. They were all brought into custody and then of course, Enjolras' wealthy parents bailed him out. About half of the group made bail courtesy of their parents, but the rest were still in jail to serve their sentence.

After all of this had taken place, their group had disbanded. Neither of them met for meetings about government policy anymore, in fact, neither of them even talked anymore. Enjolras just didn't have a passion to continue it all. His mind constantly consumed with his failure-the lives he had permanently ruined thanks to his attempt at change.

He does nothing with his life now. Books are his only friends but really, he barely even has the heart to read anymore. Most of the time, he sits in the Café-where it all began-and sulks silently into his coffee, regretting life, and wishing he was the one who died.

Éponine is about to get her coffee, but she has lost her appetite when a thought of him enters her mind. This was where she used to meet him, she would wait for him after every meeting, just hoping to talk to him for even a few minutes. Sometimes he would even introduce her to his friends. It's funny, she was actually beginning to like some of them until Enjolras had to go and screw it all up.

But her eyes gaze over to the handsome revolutionary, observing his dulled blonde hair, his weary eyes and his sagging shoulders. As she keeps her eyes fixed on his appearance, suddenly, a part of her heart feels for him. She bets the hurt in his heart is similar to the one she is feeling right now. For a brief moment, she doesn't loathe him anymore. In fact, it's sad actually, how he risked everything on this hope that the Mayor would actually listen to him, would actually notice him.

She never paid the leader mind before-since her mind was always occupied with Marius. Suddenly, she stills, feeling herself cringe.

Even after all this time, his name still bites like a bullet.

But for the first time, Éponine realizes that Enjolras isn't all that different from her. She had put her hope into one who never noticed her either. And the second a beautiful blonde crossed his vision, he was permanently gone. And if he could've-Éponine didn't doubt-that he would've called the police to get her away from him too.

So, here were their lives. Both dismal and dark now that their passion had been extinguished. And where did that leave them?

Alone.

Her feet guide her to his table. With no words, she pulls out the chair across from him and sits down. She doesn't look at him but only stares at her hands in her lap.

His head slowly lifts up to see her and she can feel his stare on her. Yet, she doesn't say anything. She just breathes.

"What?" he says in a biting voice. His question doesn't leave much room for exchange since he doesn't have the will to ask a full question, but his curiosity is there. He recognizes who she is, but why did she feel the need to place herself at his table? Why him?

Éponine only sighs heavily, still not bringing her eyes up to his. "Musichetta got an invitation to Marius' wedding," she murmurs. The sting of his name on her lips is like acid being poured into her mouth.

His brow furrows for a moment before he realizes she can't see it. "Did you?"

"No."

Why is this girl even talking to him? Sure he had seen her around before but he doesn't even know her name. And now she sits herself in front of him? Everyone knew about her and Marius, everyone knew they were friends. Now, he is getting married to some other girl and didn't even have the decency to invite his friend to the wedding? Enjolras has nothing to do with any of this, but he can't help but feel some sort of emotion, even if that sort of emotion only is pity.

"Maybe he forgot to send it, or it's lost in the mail," he says, trying to give her hope. He doesn't even know why he feels he should help her in saying something. Lord knows he has better things to occupy his mind with.

Her eyes flicker up to his momentarily and then drop back to the table. "The wedding is tomorrow," she says; the hurt evident in her tone. There is no masking this pain, there is no way to extinguish it, no way to even cover it up.

"Oh." That's all he can say. What else is there? His eyes look away from her face and he stares back into his coffee.

"I called him," she offers.

"And what did he say?"

"He didn't pick up..." She can feel her throat constricting as the words fall out of her lips. "..for three weeks. He never picked up the phone...for three weeks."

"Oh," he says again, breath hitching as if to say something else, but then he doesn't. The silence grows between them like a flower blooming. Their breaths are the only thing reminding them of the other's presence. "I didn't get an invitation either." He says this maybe to make her feel better or maybe to help himself. It's not like he has had much company recently either. But doesn't he have more important things to do anyway than try to comfort a girl whose name he doesn't even know?

A smile crosses her face like lightning and then is gone before it is even remembered. "Did you expect to?"

"No." He clears his throat, choking on the word. "I mean, not really, no...he was-" His words die out as he thinks about his friend rotting in some grave as the weeds collect where the flowers have died out. Images of the past flood through his mind and he can't bear to say his name. "He was my friend's friend...not mine."

"Combeferre's?" she asks as her eyes find his and she sees that he is staring at her with such intensity, it's as if she had just slapped him.

His eyes bore into her. How did she even know? But he sighs, knowing she is right. "Yes," he says begrudgingly as his gaze softens up finally.

Suddenly, he really remembers her face and somewhere deep in his mind her name is buried. She was always there-at the meetings, here at this café, sitting in the same table by the window, just watching them. She was always there, always waiting for Marius to be finished and then she would join him and the two would leave the café together. And even the days he wasn't, she would show up hoping he would be there, asking if anyone had seen him.

It seems he knows her after all.

The conversation lulls as Éponine doesn't press him further. She doesn't really need to in order to see the hurt behind his eyes. He feels guilty for everything, he knows he is to blame, but he is drowning himself in the guilt.

Éponine can't bear it anymore. She hates seeing him feel sorry for himself and she hates the ache in her heart and the ache behind her eyes. She hates feeling like the world is imploding around her, like she has nothing to live for anymore. Like every shred of hope she had, has just died along with her soul. But Éponine is dead inside. So the truth is, she hardly feels anything at all. The pain has turned to numbness. She's felt it far too long to actually feel it anymore.

And she would bet what's left of her heart, that Enjolras probably feels the same way.

"Come with me," she states abruptly and this time it's her eyes that are boring into his.

"What?" he asks, confusion laced in his voice.

She pushes her seat back, scraping it along the linoleum. "Well, I'm not sleeping with anyone and you don't have anywhere that you've gotta be, so...come on." She stands herself up, waiting for him to join.

His wide eyes follow hers and he is now looking up to her, brows furrowed and a sheer look of shock written across his features. What was this girl getting at? Could he really just get up and follow her? He didn't even know her name, and it was rude to ask her all of a sudden now anyway. But what did he have to lose? He has nothing anymore. He was a meaningless life form, squandering the earth lost in his own thoughts and desolation, screwing up the lives of the ones he loves. So why not? What was one more life to screw up? Besides, by looks alone, it seems he couldn't possibly make her life worse than it already is.

"Alright." Just a single word and he stands.

Already heading for the door, she doesn't even look at him as they leave. Diligently, he follows behind her before falling in stride with her somber pace. The bells jingle one last time as the door shuts behind them, closing them out of their only shared memory, the only place where their lives overlapped.

She begins walking down the sidewalk once again and he still follows her. He doesn't dare ask if she wants to ride in his car. He is far too curious, wanting to know where she is leading him.

They walk in silence. It seems the silence is fitting for both of them in their melancholy. It is the resonating sound of nothing that keeps them bound together. It is something they share in common and in a way, the silence is just another sound for their pain. They walk together in stride, one foot in front of the other until the congestion of the little town dies away, until the buildings spread out, and until Central Ave becomes nothing more than a strip of tar with fields bounding for miles on either side. The blue sky, the green grass, the black road, each matching together like a painting seen hundreds of times before.

Enjolras knows they are walking far out of town, yet the curiosity in his mind is the only thing keeping his feet moving next to hers. A fence appears alongside them and Éponine makes use of it by dancing her fingers along the top rail of it as she walks.

"Where are we going?" Enjolras finally asks.

She curtly comes to a halt and faces the fence, resting her elbows on top of it and her head finding a home in her hands. Sighing, she flits a smile at the great expanse in front of her. "Right here," she says.

"Here?" he clarifies.

"Yup, right here."

He comes up beside her and grips the wooden rail, staring out into the same picture she is looking at. Why here? He doesn't get it. Yet, he waits silently next to her, not saying a word, only breathing. Their breaths match the faint wind blowing past them; a steady rhythm, inhaling and exhaling. There is nothing interesting about this particular field, nothing beautiful, nothing peculiar, nothing that would ever make one want to stop here and look at it for longer than a moment.

Slowly, a small herd of horses come trotting along the yellowed field until one seemingly decides that this is the spot. In unison, they all stop and lower their heads to the ground. The horses are far away, yet one can hear their soft nickers floating through the wind until the sound reaches Éponine and Enjolras' ears.

"My brother wanted to be a cowboy," she says.

Suddenly alerted by her words, Enjolras darts his head to look at her, yet she still doesn't look at him.

"I always told him that was a stupid dream," she continues. "Why a cowboy, you know? Cowboys aren't anything special, I've never once met one like they are in movies or books. They're all just jerks, if you ask me. But he never listened. He still wanted to be a cowboy. It was a stupid dream and I never understood it. There are so many other stupid dreams to be...so why a cowboy? You know, he even begged my mom for riding lessons." Her voice stops for just a moment and Enjolras sees her eyes close in contemplation. When she opens them again, they're shining. "He never did learn to ride. All he wanted was some stupid lessons...there was no harm in that, but mom said no."

"Why?" he utters.

She shrugs. "Wasn't safe, I guess. I don't really know."

"Why can't he ride now?"

"He's dead."

The words come out so abrupt, they take Enjolras by surprise. His eyes widen and he just blinks at her before his mind slowly returns him to reality. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

She shrugs again and taps the fence twice before she picks herself up off of it. Gathering a breath, she steels her eyes once again and nods. A nod to nothing in particular-a nod for no one, to no one. "It is what it is." She turns her head and begins to walk back the direction they came from, this time her other hand trailing along the fence top.

Not commenting on the last part of what she says, Enjolras takes a quick step to keep up with her again, shoving his hands in his pockets when he finally falls in step with her again. He waits a beat, gathering the words to speak. "How did he die?"

"Leukemia," she states. "He was nine."

He swallows back the words he wants to say. I'm sorry. My condolences. I'm sure he was a good kid. He was loved. All these words; they all are meaningless, they all are ones she's heard before.

"Oh," is what he decides to say.

Again, they walk with nothing but the wind talking for them. What is there to say? What even is this? There is nothing between them, nothing but the breeze flowing and their satiable breaths. There is nothing that keeps Enjolras walking with her-the girl whose name he still can't even recall-nothing except curiosity. As they walk further, the town arises again and the sparsity of buildings diminishes until they pass the café. Their feet don't stop and neither do they even glance in its direction.

When they come to the corner, Éponine pauses, looking left and right, deciding where to go, yet Enjolras cuts in front of her, turning left. Now it is he who is leading them. She furrows her brow for just a second and then she follows him. Walking a step behind him, she still keeps her head bent to the ground and continues on with him. From her vantage point of the ground, she sees his feet stop and immediately, she snaps her head up. Suddenly, she is face to face with dusty windows, chipped white paint and fallen signs. A little booth sits by the door, completed boarded. The only thing that stands out is the faded poster for The Aviator still clinging for life by a single strip of Scotch tape.

"Every friday," Enjolras begins, but stops. He spares a small glance down at the wide-eyed hazel-haired girl, and takes a breath. "Every friday my dad used to take me to the movies. It was our tradition. He'd buy our tickets, he'd buy one large popcorn and two small sodas, and we would take our seats in the first two seats of the second to last row. Every friday."

Éponine says nothing, but her eyes urge him to continue-so he does.

"My mom worked all the time, and my dad was home a lot... So we went to the movies, even saw the same movies twice sometimes. Then my dad got a call one day, then he started campaigning, and then he became the mayor...just like that."

"Armand?" she asks. "Your last name is Armand?"

He nods nonchalantly, a sharp scowl beginning to form. "Yup. My dad is Mayor Armand and I'm his only son."

Her mouth falls slightly ajar and her eyes remain wide. "But the protest?"

He chuckles bitterly. "I never said I was a good son." Pausing, he turns his head back to look at the cinema. "Once he started campaigning, we never spent another Friday together. He didn't have time to go to the movies anymore. So I read books, I went to school, made some friends. But it wasn't the same...I was never the same. I started to hate my dad...my mom was never around enough to hate. But I'd always see my dad...interviews, posters. I remember when the cinema closed down. He didn't even care." Enjolras' voice has become rough, with his jaw set and his teeth clenched. To Éponine, he looks like a statue; a cold stone statue. Then like a switch, his muscles relax and his whole demeanor softens. "I miss him."

Éponine takes a step closer to him, leaving only an inch of space between them as they now stand side by side, facing the theatre doors. "I'm sorry."

He sighs heavily. "It is what it is," he responds and he gazes down to her with a little smirk playing on his lips.

A similar smirk finds its way onto her face, matching his. "Except it isn't."

The smirk falls off of him like a rock and he gives one more look to the cinema. "Right," he says with a nod. "It's not."

In a daze, he begins to walk again and Éponine diligently follows behind him. They come to another corner and she gives a nod in one direction. He relents with no other option but to follow her. Éponine leads Enjolras to an older building. One where the stones are falling out of their holes in the siding and the stairs have nicks in them from wear. The door creaks as she opens it, bringing both of them out of their thoughts for a moment. She continues on up flights of stairs with Enjolras following gingerly in tow.

She finally makes it to a door at the end of a long hallway. The hallway reeks of alcohol and cigarettes but Enjolras doesn't flinch at the smell. Instead, he welcomes it to his misery.

Pulling out a key, she unlocks the door and leads the way into a tiny, one bedroom apartment. Dirty dishes lay in the sink, sweaters are thrown over the couch, and he can even see the dust on the picture frames.

She kicks her ballet flats off and walks to the kitchenette, pulling two beers from the refrigerator. He decides, like her, to take his shoes off even if she never asked. Twisting off the tops with her hands, she gives one beer to him and plops herself on the couch. She doesn't say anything but waits for him to join her-which he does.

So they sit there, sipping their beers and perhaps actually enjoying the other's company. Neither is planning for anything to happen. Enjolras doesn't question anything and Éponine doesn't prompt any discussion. They both just sit there alone, lost in their own thoughts and their own worlds, but at least they can be alone together.

"I don't know..." she murmurs after an eternity of silence.

He waits before answering, thinking she might elaborate. "Don't know what?"

"I just..." her voice breaks off hiding a sob and he looks over at her. She's staring at her hands in her lap again. "I just don't know what I did," she whispers. "Why didn't he even call me back?" Her eyes close gently and a tear finds its way over her eyelid, sliding down her cheek.

But that's all it was, one tear. That is the only amount of pain she would release from the relentless thoughts pounding in her head, never giving her a chance to breath. Because no matter how hard she tries, there is no escape from her mind.

Suddenly, she feels the warmth of his hand on his upper arm; making her bring her eyes to his. "Don't," he whispers back. Her eyes open to stare into his. She can see all the hurt flashing through him at this very moment. But for some reason, he's choosing to help her.

Éponine takes in a deep breath in as her fingers hastily glide over her cheek, removing the stain of wetness. She lets out the breath. "It just hurts." Her voice doesn't sound like it was laced with tears, somehow she was able to hide the hurt from her voice. "As much as I try to move on... I'm just tired of feeling this way." She takes a large breath as she can feel the familiar ache behind her eyes as they glaze over. "I don't want to feel anymore," she says with a shake of her head.

Her eyes glance to the side, looking anywhere else to hide from the embarrassment of pouring out her feelings to him; a man she barely knows.

"Me neither," he speaks softly.

Her eyes dart back to his, and gradually he is leaning in closer, his hand still resting on her arm. She is searching for any sense in any of this, but before she has time to think, his lips land on hers and instantly, her eyes close involuntarily as she breathes him in. The taste of him against her lips is enough to silence the never-ending thoughts that corrode her mind just for a moment.

But the moment is short lived. She pulls away as her face crumples, the corners of her mouth voluntarily smiling for a mere second before she composes herself again. He stares at her, eyes laced with empathy.

Enjolras leans closer to her now, pressing her firmly into his chest and tucking her head beneath his chin. Bending down minutely, he kisses her forehead and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace. "I want the hurt to go away too," he murmurs into her hair.

He can feel her body trembling as she wraps her arms around his torso, embracing him back. She holds him so tight as she buries her face in the crook of his neck and nods. His hand cups the back of her head, holding her against him, while his other hand rubs her back. They stay like this for a few moments, until her trembling dies down and she pulls back to look at him.

Her eyes are red and swollen but she nods to him again, more fervently this time. In reply, he gives her a brief smile.

...

When the day slowly fades away after the hours spent together, he lays with his back against the headboard and her head resting on his chest. His arm is wrapped tenderly around her while his hand holds hers and traces small patterns on her knuckles. Her head rises and falls with each breath he takes. Both of them stay like this within the thin sheets that are draped over them, not at all felling bothered by the silence.

It seems as though the silence has turned from pain to pleasure.

They both know that eventually they will have to leave each other and return to their normal, mundane, and tragic lives where the pain is always evident in everything they do; where every small detail reminds them of the hurt.

And once more, her heart begins to splinter.

"Will you come back?" she asks suddenly, breaking this simple silence. Her eyes are staring wide into his, waiting for his answer.

He debates his answer over in his head and he takes a gamble. "Yes."

Éponine smiles contentedly and buries her face back into his chest. "Good," she sighs.

He waits again as his eyes wander about the room and finally land on her head once again. "So what is this?" he asks hesitantly.

Her eyes travel up to his once more and she is still smiling a tired smile. "It is what it is..." she breathes as she snuggles herself closer to him, engulfing herself in his scent. She hugs herself tighter to him and he firmly hugs her back. She lets out a long breath, "...until it isn't...anymore."


End file.
